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Sluggishly, it resumes beating.

I take a shuddering breath and gather together all that I can of the power at my disposal.

“With all that is left in me, I demand this world and everyone in it forget UvagukisMemnon. Every last person who carries a memory of him shall lose them, beginning with Eislyn.”

I give the last of myself up to the curse.

Pure, raw power bursts from me, sweeping out across the jungle until I can no longer see it. I sense when the first mind has been struck. It must be Eislyn’s. I take a perverse amount of pleasure knowing I’m peeling away her memories.

She’s the first, but it’s only the beginning of the curse.

Across the world, a thousand upon a thousand people carried some memory or awareness of Memnon. One by one, my magic devours every last memory of him. Memnon the Indomitable simply becomes some vague, cruel commander of legions who came and went.

In my mind’s eye, I can see the petroglyphs bearing his name chip away until the recordings vanish. The ink on papyri rearranges itself to remove Memnon; where his presence is too frequent, the papyri simply burn up.

Across every land he conquered, his name disappears, cast from the record.

I take the memory of Memnon from everything and everyone. I scream as my magic and that foreign essence consume me. The years of my life fall away like a fever dream as the magic leaving me thins out to just a wisp.

My heart stutters as that last thread of magic darkens, then doubles back on itself, moving back toward me.

Must hold on until the curse is finished. For this to work, no one can remember him.

No one…

Not even me.

My magic strikes then, sinking into my flesh and closing in on my memories. With a final, choked cry, my heart stops, and the last mind is wiped.

CHAPTER 8

PRESENT DAY, SOMEWHERE NORTH OF SAN FRANCISCO

SELENE

The last memoryof my previous life fades away. I blink several times as Memnon comes back into view. His cheeks are soaked as though he’s been crying while reliving most of the past, and his hands tremble against my cheek.

“No.” The ragged word tears from his throat. His eyes search mine, his expression desolate. “No,” he says again, this time more broken.

Memnon’s legs give out, and his hands drop from my face as his knees hit the ground.

For several long seconds, all I hear is the sound of his heavy breathing as he bows his head, his hand pressed to his heart. I can feel the sharp blade of his grief through our bond, and I catch a few of his fragmented thoughts.

…watched her die…alone…protecting me…powerless… What have I done?

He makes a sound that is somewhere between a sob and a moan.

“Roxi,” he says quietly, his voice thick with anguish. He looks at me then, horror written all over his face. “What have I done?” he says, echoing his earlier thoughts.

I stare down at him dispassionately. “A lot, Memnon. You’ve done a lot.”

He draws in a shuddering breath. “Youdied.”

“I did.”

“You were alone in the palace when they came—” His voice breaks off, and he rubs his eyes. “My mother, my sister—” He presses his lips together, and his expression nearly crumbles again. “You and Ferox had to fight your way out alone.”

Memnon bows his head again and covers his eyes with his hand, and the man who has done so much and felt so little now weeps, overcome with emotion.